Hard Roads
by twinkylady
Summary: 082203 ADDED TO CHAPTER 4. Consequences from the past always come home to roost.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

            "For the last time Kenny, I am your mother and I said no!  Your father ran out on me, ran out on us when I told him I was pregnant.  I didn't even know he was married until after you were born.  He never wanted you, never wanted anything to do with you.   He wanted me to have an abortion for Christ's sake!  Why do you keep on and on about this?"  
            Kennedy Johnson pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration.  She and her mother had been having this conversation, or one like it since she was in kindergarten and realized other kids had daddies at home.  When she was a teenager, she had left it alone for awhile, but now that she was 25 and ready to settle down and start a family, she wanted the information.  Hell, if nothing else, his medical history would have been nice.

            "Mama, I know it's been hard for you.  I appreciate the fact that you raised me alone and made sacrifices but don't you think I should at least know my roots?  Half of my family, half of _me_ is missing because of your stubbornness and broken heart.  I don't even know my grandparents!"

            "Your grandparents are dead and your father was nothing more than a sperm donor."  Angela's terse reply was flat and emotionless.  "I refuse to discuss this any further.  As far as I'm concerned your father might as well be dead too.  I've always been here, if he'd wanted to find me, he could have.  He doesn't deserve you."  She turned back to the sink and busied herself drying dishes, slamming them into the cabinets with a bit more force than was warranted.

            Kennedy took a deep breath.  This was going to be harder than she had thought.  She hated to do this, but if she didn't her mother would never tell her about her father.

            "I know about the money Mom," she said quietly.

            Angela continued drying dishes, the sudden tension in her spine the only sign that she had even heard her daughter.

            Kenny continued, walking towards her mother.  "I know that someone has been depositing money in the bank every month since I was a baby.  I know that money has come from a bank in Connecticut.  When you put my name on the account while I was in college, I checked the balance online if I needed money.  I saw the deposits and ordered copies of the statements.  The only thing I couldn't find out was who was behind the deposits."

            With every sentence, Angela visibly winced, as if avoiding a blow.  When Kennedy reached her mother, she touched Angela's shoulder.  Angela jumped, then spun around, her face a mask of anger and pain.

            "How could you?  How could you do this to me?  I…I didn't know you could do that…I never imagined you'd go behind my back.  You ungrateful little wretch, after all I've done for you, all I've sacrificed to see you raised well and be happy…You have no idea what I've…"  Her voice trailed off, choked by the tears streaming freely down her face.  Angela shoved her daughter to the side and ran for her bedroom, slamming the door behind her. 

 Kennedy stood gaping in shock.  Her mother was always the picture of decorum and good manners, cool and unruffled in the direst of circumstances.  What now?


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2 

            Shane McMahon juggled a sheaf of papers, his portfolio briefcase and a tall black coffee (extra sugar) on his way to his mother's office in the Titan Tower.  While his father and sister had been on the road with Smackdown since the brand extension, he had remained in Connecticut, learning more about the business end of things.  Stephanie, with her flair for the dramatic, was not at all suited to office work, and was happier on the road with the tv crews.  Shane's business degree and head for numbers meant it was left to him to ensure that their grandfather's legacy continued far into the future.

            "Pauletta my love, is the boss around?"  Shane tipped a wink and a sly crooked smile to Linda's secretary.  Pauletta merely raised an eyebrow worthy of the Rock himself and never missed a beat typing up the agenda for that morning's board meeting.  A handsome woman who was somewhere on the wrong side of fifty, her hair was firmly restrained in the same French twist that she had worn since her first day of work with Linda McMahon nearly thirty years ago.  She favored man-tailored suits in the style of Katharine Hepburn and was generally regarded with the same quiet awe as Linda herself.  A natural flirt, Shane had spent most of his adult life trying to get a rise out of Pauletta.  He hadn't yet succeeded.

            "Go on in, she's expecting you.  There's fresh coffee on the credenza, I'm sure you'll need it."  Pauletta's eyes returned to the document on the holder next to her monitor, dismissing Shane.

            Shane shook his head and strode on past Pauletta's desk through the leather-covered double doors into his mother's office.

            "Mother!  You look wonderful this morning.  Have you heard from Dad?"  Shane dropped his papers and briefcase into one of the overstuffed armchairs and his coffee on the low table just inside the doors.  He turned to Linda with his arms outstretched and a wide smile on his face.

            Linda came around from her desk on the dais and walked into her son's arms, planting a kiss on his cheek.  "Good morning son, and thank you.  I spoke with your father last night.  He seems none the worse for wear after his match with Zach Gowan last night.  He wasn't too happy the medics had to cut his hair to do the stitches, but he'll get over it."

            "And how are _you_ doing?  I still can't believe you took that piledriver from Glenn last week.  He didn't hurt you did he?"  Shane's voice was colored with concern for his mother.  

            Linda dismissed his worries with a laugh.  "Nothing that a good massage, a Percoset and some time in the hot tub and sauna didn't take care of.  I'm good as new son, don't worry about me.  This old lady has a few tricks left up her sleeve."

            "Now mother, I'm supposed to be the one taking the sick bumps, not you."

            "Shane McMahon, don't you talk to me like a child.  In case you have forgotten, I'm the mother here.  I'll have you know that your father made sure I was well-trained before you kids came along.  Vince might have his bad points, but leaving his family unprepared is not one of them."  Linda turned and settled regally into one of the armchairs by the table.  "Let's go over the figures before you have to catch a plane to Colorado."

            Shane handed his mother a bundle of papers and they began reviewing the contents.  Two hours and three pots of coffee later, he dropped his papers on the table and rubbed his eyes.  Looking into his cup and finding it empty, he went over to the mahogany credenza and poured in the dregs of the last pot, sugaring it liberally as was his habit.  Linda stacked her papers against the edge of the table and laid them neatly on the edge.

            "Ok, I think that about covers it.  Is there anything else we need to go over?"

            Shane didn't turn and face his mother, but picked up his cup and headed over to the bank of windows behind her desk instead.  "Actually Mom, there is.  It's not in the main financials, but there is something I want to ask you.  I got a call first thing this morning from Mary Jacobs, the new manager for Accounts Payable.  She had some questions about a monthly payout from one of the smaller divisions.  It seems that there has been a monthly deposit into the personal bank account of one Angela Johnson in St. Louis Missouri for the last twenty-five years.  Since the company has gone through so many changes in recent years, she wasn't sure where to begin to look for the original invoices and there is no record of services rendered…except for a memo directing an increase in payments by $2000 dated in 1995…and authorized by you.  Who is Angela Johnson and what's this about?  Are you being blackmailed for some reason?"

            For a long moment, Linda didn't respond.  She took a deep breath and walked to the credenza to pour her own drink, though she chose a shot of neat brandy for herself.  She tossed it back and calmly regarded her son.

            "I suppose it was going to have to come out eventually.  No Shane, we are not being blackmailed.  As usual, I'm left to clean up the messes left by the McMahon men.  I'm just surprised the secret was kept this long.  Angela has certainly lived up to her end of the deal up to now.

            "Angela Johnson is the mother of your half-sister."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

            Shane choked down the swallow of hot coffee he had just taken.  His eyes teared up and he swiped his arm over his mouth to keep from spitting it all over his mother's Louis XIV desk.

            "Excuse me?  Did I hear you correctly?  My half-sister?  What in the hell…"  
            Linda held up a hand, stopping his barrage of questions.  

            "Son, I'll explain all about it later tonight.  It's a long story, and you've got to get on the plane to Colorado for Raw.  Vince expects to see you no later than 3pm, and you know how he gets when people are late."

            "But Moth…" Shane sputtered.

            "Not another word Shane, I mean it.  This is something I haven't told anyone in twenty-five years and I need some time to prepare myself.  Go, get to Colorado and when the production meetings are over, call me at home and we'll talk."  Linda's voice brooked no argument.  "And don't you dare mention this to your father, do you hear me?"

            "Yes mother, loud and clear.  I'm not nine years old anymore, you know."  Shane dutifully kissed his mother's cheek and went to the conference table to gather up his things.  "I'll speak to you around 7 o'clock Colorado time."

            "Have a good flight Shane." 

            When he was gone, Linda slumped against the closed doors to her office.  She crossed her arms over her chest and rested her forehead against the heel of her right hand.  A moment passed and then she stood straight, squared her shoulders, and shot the French cuffs on the blouse under her elegant Chanel suit.

            She crossed the Oriental rug and seated herself in the leather chair behind her desk.  Her fingers tossed the Rolodex to a familiar card but she dialed the number without looking at it.

            "This is Mrs. McMahon.  Meet me in my office in one hour."  Linda paused for the response of the other party.  "Grant, no arguments.  I don't care what you have scheduled, cancel it.  This is an emergency."  She hung up the phone with perhaps more force than was necessary and swung her chair around to contemplate the view from her picture windows.

*          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *

            Kennedy stopped punching the bag long enough to wipe away the sweat that ran down her forehead.

            "Kenny hon, I think that's enough.  The bag is dead and it isn't getting back up, I promise."  With a wry smile, her trainer Bob Orton handed her a water bottle and a small white towel.  

            She accepted the bottle and downed half the contents in one swallow and poured the rest over her head.  She gasped at the shock of the cold water sliding down her spine and then slumped bonelessly to the floor.

            "Kenny, what's wrong?  Has someone upset you?  Want me to beat 'em up for you?  I might be getting old but I've still got some fight left in me, that I promise you."  Bob squatted down in front of her and raised her chin with his knuckles.  As usual, he made some ridiculous face in an effort to get her to smile.

            As usual, to Kennedy's chagrin, it worked.  The old charmer still had it left in him; no matter how much she wanted to stay in a bad mood he invariably made her smile.  She had recently joined a gym and hired him as a personal trainer to get her in shape to run marathons.  It was a hobby she had taken up in college, but in the last couple of years it had fallen to the wayside as she made her way in the business world.  Now that she was establishing herself nicely, it was something she wanted to get back into.

            "Oh Bob, you know you wouldn't hurt a fly.  I just can't picture you beating up on somebody."  Kenny grabbed his outstretched hand and allowed him to pull her to her feet.  Comfortably past 50, Bob was a bit over 6 feet with wiry graying hair.  Though still very strong in middle age, his muscles were definitely upholstered with a layer or two of cushioning.  At her remark, Bob threw back his head and howled with laughter.  

            "Kenny girl, did I ever tell you what I did for a living before I became a personal trainer?"  With that, he wrapped his arm around her shoulders and led her to his office.


	4. Chapter 4

"So that's why I have this 'ridiculous' cowboy hat, as you call it."  He jammed the battered old hat onto his head and fell into a fighting stance, fists up and ready and pasted a snarl on his face.

            "Cowboy Bob, huh?"  Kennedy eyed Bob incredulously.  "I never would have pegged you for a professional wrestler."

            "Just goes to show you that you shouldn't judge a book by its cover.  I was considered one of the most fearsome champs ever and nobody messed with me – unless they felt like getting an ass-whupping.  My dad was in the business and now my boy is too."  Pride gleamed in his eyes as he indicated a photo on the desk.  "Randy's gonna go a long way, I can just feel it.  He's working a program with Ric Flair and Triple H that's just fantastic."

            Kennedy goggled.  "Ric Flair is STILL wrestling?!?  Even *I* know who Ric Flair is and I never was a fan.  He must be ancient by now!"

            "Hey girl, watch it – he and I are real close in age.   Be careful who you're calling an old man."  Bob grinned at her and dropped his hat back on top of the filing cabinet.  When he took his seat and turned back to face Kennedy, his expression had become more serious.

            "Now Kenny girl, tell me what's wrong.  You've been distracted today, more than I've ever seen.  Obviously training is not on your mind."

            Kennedy wiped her hand over her face and sighed deeply.  "It's my father," she said, but left it at that and didn't elaborate further.

            "Is he sick?  Lost his job, what?  Is there something I can do to help?"  Bob reached across the desk and took her hands into his own.  The look on her face made his heart ache.  His own son Randy was nearly her age, all grown up but in a parent's eye still a little boy begging daddy to swing him on his knee.  "Come on honey, tell me what's the matter."

            She hadn't intended to dump her problems on him, but the concern in his voice broke her resolve.

            "No Bob, he isn't sick or unemployed…at least I guess he isn't.  That's the problem.  I don't know…I don't know _anything about him…not even who he is.  My mother refuses to talk about it and said he's long gone from our lives, but…he isn't.  I found out somebody's been sending her money ever since I was born but she refuses to even acknowledge the subject."  Kennedy slumped in her chair, eyes shining with tears she refused to let fall._

            "Oh honey, I'm so sorry."  Bob came around the desk and pulled her up into a hug.  She held herself stiffly in his embrace for a moment, but when she felt his hand stroke down her hair like her mother had done when she was a child, she buried her face into his shoulder and allowed herself to cry.

            Bob pressed a small kiss to the top of her head and whispered soft nonsense designed to soothe and comfort.  Kennedy wrapped her arms around his waist and clung tightly to him as all the pent-up emotion and frustration poured out of her through her tears.  

At home, she had been taught that one always presented a serene face to the world, regardless of troubles at home.  Her mother had insisted on dignity and respectability, if only the appearance of it, at all times.  Her argument had been that just because they had little in the way of material possessions did not mean that they had to act like common trash and air their dirty laundry in public.

            Kennedy had always thought her mother had carried things a little too far, and here was the proof.  Blubbering away in the arms of practically a stranger!  Just thinking about what her mother would say gave her the strength to take a few deep breaths and gently push herself out of Bob's arms.

            "I…I don't know what to say Bob, I've never...broken down like that…I mean, it's always been just me and my mom and…I…"  Kennedy's voice trailed off as she grabbed a few tissues from the box on his desk and wiped her eyes.

            "I'm honored that you felt comfortable enough to lean on me.  I know we've only known each other a few months Kennedy, but if there's anything I can do to help you, please come to me.  Even if it's just to offer my shoulder again, I'll be glad to do it."

            Kennedy nodded mutely, not looking up from her shoes.  Bob lifted her chin with one finger and smiled.

            "Why don't you let me take you out for some coffee and you can tell me how you're going to track down the deadbeat.  That way I can beat the snot out of him for abandoning you and your mom."  With that, he made another one of his ridiculous faces.

            Kennedy grinned through the tears, she couldn't help it.  "Ok, let's go."

*          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *

            Linda was still gazing out her windows when she heard the knock on her door.  She glanced down at the Cartier watch Vince had given her for their last anniversary – exactly 55 minutes had passed.  Grant Nichols was nothing if not punctual.           She swung her chair around to face the desk and called out for him to enter.

            "Linda, what on earth is going on?  I had to rearrange a half dozen appointments to get here."  Grant was a personal attorney with a thriving practice in estate law, specializing in trust funds.  Linda had him on special retainer, separate from any corporate business.

            "Sit down Grant."  Linda indicated the chair in front of her desk.  He sank into the butter-soft leather, concern on his face.

            She steepled her fingers, tapping them together in an idle gesture and took a deep breath.  "Looks like my little secret is out.  Shane found out about Angela Johnson yesterday."  
            "Linda, I've always said that secrets cause trouble. They're always found out eventually, always.   I've never liked you keeping this from Vince.  He made a mistake.  I know you were hurt, but you should have given him the opportunity to make amends."

            Her eyes narrowed and her lips thinned as she pressed them together.  "Vince has had more chances than he ever deserved to make amends.  I know about most of his other women, always have.  We certainly didn't marry for love.  All I ever asked of him was not to get anyone pregnant, and he couldn't even do that.  My children, our children didn't need his attention diverted from them any further than it already was.  I took care of Angela's brat in return for her getting out of Vince's life forever."

            "So how did Shane find out?  Did Angela try and contact him?"  

            She released a derisive snort.  "No, unfortunately my new Accounts Payable manager was a bit too efficient.  She found records for the monthly payments but couldn't trace the source so she went to Shane.  He obviously knew nothing about it so he asked me about it."  She sighed in resignation.  "I promised to give Shane the whole story tonight when he calls me from Colorado."

            Puzzled, Grant said, "I see.  What exactly is it you need from me then?"

            "I want you to make sure Angela and her brat leave the country and never come back.  I don't want them to interfere in our lives in any way.  Period.  Whatever it takes, money is no object."  


End file.
